


red punch

by blue_scribbles



Series: red punch [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bisexual Peter Parker, Dissociation, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Violence, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, but it's not important, kind of, spiderson, spideyson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 14:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18317567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_scribbles/pseuds/blue_scribbles
Summary: Peter Parker may be cursed with bad luck, yet he had always somehow managed his misfortune. But there are things that no human, enhanced or not, can fight on their own and even the strongest can find themselves in situations in which they are helpless.





	1. -1-

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags may imply does this story contain triggering content, regarding sexual harassment and abuse, so if this may affect you negatively feel free to skip this fic.  
> Also please be aware that the thought patterns mentioned, are by no means healthy, nor do they reflect my personal stance to the topic.  
> Like always constructive criticism is welcome and any mistakes you may find are my burden to carry.

**Red punch**

 

Peter was standing nervously on the sidewalk in front of Flash's, fairly impressive, house. He had an imposing front yard, big windows and broad stairs leading to the front door. Peter could already hear the muffled music from inside and between the courtains some stray rays of colourful light peeked out. Peter took a deep breath, he felt unwelcome and everyone else would have declared him insane, for attending the party of a boy, who only spared snideness for him. But the reason for his presence was that this particular boy had decided to invite him, just out of the blue. And why shouldn't Peter try to make peace, even if it was just for the sake of Ned and him, not being harassed anymore?

 

But Ned himself didn't come, even when Peter offered to take him along, after the gaffe at Liz's party and given the aspect that Flash overlooked him with an invitation, Ned didn't want to take the risk, understandably. If MJ was there, he didn't know, even though it was obvious she couldn't stand Flash, she did like free food all the more and since she got along with him at the club, it wasn't unlikely to meet her after all.

 

This thought in mind, he managed to gather his courage nonetheless. Intent he stepped to the door. After ringing the bell several times and still nobody opening, he carefully pushed the door open. Apparently everyone was too distracted to care for laggers. The music was uncomfortably loud and additionally to that came the hubbub from the seemingly exuberantly amused guests all over the room. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he went into the living room, which looked like it was the centre of the event, it was the source of the lights he had seen from outside too. A bit disorientated he pushed through the crowd in search of a familiar face, or anything that could keep him from standing around uselessly really.

 

But the first person who approached him grinning, was Flash, who straightaway gripped him welcoming at the shoulder and started to walk in the direction he had come from, all the while loudly talking to him, yet Peter still struggled to understand him:“Hey Parker! I didn't think you would come, follow me I show you around!“

 

Relieved he had found an occupation, Peter resumed to stay at Flash's side, who- thank god- led them out of the crowd. Arriving in the hallway, he gestured distracted at the restroom, before continueing to the kitchen, which was directly connected to the hallway and the living room, this place too, was well-frequented, most likely because it contained the beverages and Peter was already given a cup with an unknown substance in it, he thanked Flash, but decided not to drink anything for now. Suddenly he was pulled along, back into the crowd until they got to the other end of the room, at which a long row of tables had been placed, carrying a big bowl of punch and some snacks. A few feet away stood the small mixer, Peter already knew from Liz's Party and he hoped that Flash wouldn't use it again today to humiliate him.

 

But this didn't seem to be Flash's goal of today either, he was still dragging him behind to a group of people he introduced as his friends, they were similar to Flash regarding their demeanour and their behaviour, but they were neither condescending, nor did they seem to know about his “nickname“ Flash had forced upon him. The sudden kindness made Peter suspicious, yet he still hoped imploringly that Flash was honest with him.

 

“Why aren't you drinking?“ asked Flash a bit confused.

 

Peter nervously looked into his cup and then to Flash:“I don't even know what's in there.“

 

“It's a random mix, just try it.“ Flash was trying to convince him.

 

Peter sipped at his drink sceptically, it was red and sweet and definitely not alcohol-free, but it hit the spot.

 

“It's good.“ He murmured to Flash, who looked at him expectantly and then began grinning while patting his shoulder encouragingly, before going to the punch.

 

“Try to catch up, the others have been here for a while and are accordingly tipsy, maybe you'll unbend a bit for once.“ He was talking insistently to him, while stirring in the bowl and filling his own cup.

 

Peter, who still was anxious and overwhelmed, looked around for some kind of reassurance, everyone else was having fun. Apparently they could enjoy the deafening music. Is that due to the alcohol? Would it even work on him? Maybe he really _should_ try to relax and go with the flow. Even Flash's friends looked at him encouragingly and Peter once again raised the cup to his lips.

 

The first one had no effect on him, which was most likely a side-effect of his new-found powers, because the others were both impressed and confused about his resilience. Peter himself could only smile at it, he felt his spider-senses getting louder by the second, being overloaded with the lights as well as the music. For this part of him, partys were just stressful. But right at the moment he had decided to leave, Flash offered him another cup and he gave the mixture a second chance.

 

Afterwards he was a bit tiddly and his senses were numbed too, the party got more bearable and he was able to talk with Flash's friends smoothly. This was good, he thought. He was relaxing for once not stuttering nor fidgeting, just having a normal conversation with his peers, devoid of the usual nervousness and akwardness.

 

After the third cup he was finally getting comfortable, Peter sat playfully with the others around the coffee table, talking about everything and nothing, some of them lit their cigarettes, others disappeared every now and again in the turmoil that was the dance floor and emerged from it half an hour later. Between them, their cups were placed, his own Peter was cradling firmly in his lap, trying to stop his hands from fumbling nervously. Flash offered to get him another drink, which Peter affirmed thoughtlessly.

 

After that he consistently found a new cup with punch in his hand- even though Peter lost track of when Flash had disappeared and come back- although he wanted to stop, he caught himself every time, when he began to sip at the beverage again. At first it brightend him up, just as promised, but after a while he felt how muddled he actually felt, still he didn't think about how fast the situation could escalate. Peter felt liberated in his disorientation, everything was a little bit lighter, the memories of his uncle's death were blown away and with them the caution he usually had in Flash's presence.

 

The events passed him in a haze, it was like being pulled out of reality every now and again and only getting back sporadically, until he found himself in the hallway, Flash and his friends were laughing, although Peter couldn't remember someone joking. The constant buzz in the back of his head was the only thing left of his spider-senses and it mixed pleasantly with the drunken hum of his thoughts. He was lost in his mind, while intently inspecting the wallpaper's pattern opposite of him, he tried to catch onto his sluggish thoughts, tuning in and out of rationality and jumping from topic to topic like a screensaver. He began humming something, he couldn't remember where he had heard the melody before but he felt like it could give his mind some direction.

 

“God Parker, you still there?“ A big blond boy had wined his arm around his hip and had now leaned in front of his face, a smug grin on his lips.

 

Peter smiled contently and simpered a slurred “yip!“ before he leaned further against the boy, his college jacket was soft and the arm around his body warm. The whole room spun, his eyelids layed themselves again and again heavily over his pupils and the only constant seemed to be the solid resistance against his right side.

 

“What is he jabbering about?“ commented a chuckling voice behind him.

 

-Did he say something?- bewildered he raised his fingers to his lips, as if they could answer his question. His lips felt numb, as did his tounge, which layed heavy and oversized in his mouth, Peter burbled under his breath, while his hand fumbled over his face. His eyes fell shut and without the blurred images swaying up and down in front of him, he could focus more effectively on his other senses.

He was now hurled roughly up the stairs and he remembered that he should probably move his legs, but they seemed to be made of lead and didn't really cooperate, aside from that, new steps knocked against his ankles more fastly than he could have reacted.

 

“Dammit Flash, how much did you give him?“ roared a voice beside his ear.

 

“A little bit more than the double of the usual amount, he should've already been knocked out by the second cup, though.“

 

Peter, who couldn't really grasp what they were talking about, grew more and more sceptic and tried to set himself upright. Flailing wildly with his arms he was thrashing against the grip around his waist, slurring at the same time:“L-let go, stop. I wanna go home.“ But his lacking balance just caused him to tread akwardly causing an uncomfortable pull in his ankle. Nevertheless they kept dragging him up without comment.

 

Reaching the landing, he braced himself against the nearest wall, away from the heated body next to him. „Already out of breath?“ Asked an unfamiliar voice that moved through the room. Peter kept his eyes shut, since he feared falling over, if he saw the tilting walls.

 

“he's heavier than he looks, you try it.“ Came the answer and Peter felt himself being pinched unceremoniously in the side. He staggered a few steps forward to avoid further contact and stepped a few times on his right foot, which was now throbbing painfully.

 

“He's all your's, Skip.“ Peter peeked woozyly at the voice in front of him, which nudged him in Skip's direction, who clutched his upper arm gruffly and thrust him in another direction. Peter's spider-senses fought themselves back into his conscious and nearly snapped, while urging him to flee as fast as possible, but his body still wasn't at it's best, causing his attemps at fighting off Skip's grasp to fail marvellously. His mind was still trying to catch up, wondering how he got here in the first place, the last thing he could remember was the reflection of the coffee table and the floral pattern on the hallway's wallpaper.

 

“Just look at him, he's good for nothing at the moment.“ commented the boy next to him condescending, before leading him into a darkened room. The other's were following him and spread in the room. Behind him the door was being closed, before letting him fall on the bed at the opposite wall. Adrenaline shot through his body in an instance, which incited him to begin moving again. But lifting his body felt difficult and when he tried to push himself upright a weight pushed him down again into the cushions, panicking he glanced around the room unable to concentrade, everything was dark, only the cold light of the street lamps, falling through the window above his head, illuminated the indistinct faces of the boys in the room, which were staring down at him unaffected, while a character draped in shadows, with a college jacket and strong arms was shaking him, instructing him to be still.

 

“Dude, just let him be, that was a dumb idea in the first place.“ Flash suddenly interjected. Every ounce of arrogance lost, he was now lingering, ashamed and guilty, at the edge of the bed and layed his hand on Skip's shoulder. Peter stared at him with panic in his eyes and dropped his defence alltogether, hoping they would decide to leave him alone, waiting how Skip would respond.

 

“Don't you chicken out now, either you go along, or you piss off. But don't play the virtuecrat, after _you_ were the one who drugged him.“ Flash was silent in defeat. Anew his alarms were going off, once he shook off his paralysis, after realising that nobody would help him now.

 

Without a second thought, he threw his fists towards Skip, still his body refused to obey him and his unprecise blows missed exept for a brush to his temple.- God, what did they give him?- “Fuck!“ shouted Skip, before he lunged for him. Having the high ground, Skip cought him right in the face, admittedly with way less force than he probably could have had, still the impact was enough to send hot pain all over his face and let tears form in the corners of his eyes, which he tried pushing back as hard as he could. Peter reached for his nose and saw how scarlet blood glistened on his hand like a signal light.

 

“Ungrateful tease.“ He cursed, while Peter was still occupied with his aching face.

 

“Flash, come over and hold his arms down.“ He commanded.

 

Skip who was now putting his whole weight on Peter's thighs, grasped for his wrists and pushed them tightly together above his head, Peter breasted himself against the weight on his body, which only caused Skip to fix him more firmly against the duvet. Peter whimpered against the pain, but made no move to drop his resistance. Meanwhile the blood from his nose, was trickling down his throat and left a metallic taste, Peter felt sick and swallowed reluctantly, against the upcoming nausea.

 

“Stop acting like a pussy and get your ass over here.“ ordered Skip and his rough hands were replaced with smaller ones. But even if Flash was clearly weaker than Skip, Peter still stood no chance against the two of them while still being intoxicated with god-knows-what. Suddenly he heard the rustle of fabric and he realised that Skip was tampering with his trousers, while somebody or other secured his ankles and put pressure on his contusion, making him whimper softly before biting his tounge again and sqeezing his eyes shut.

 

Peter found himself helpless in the face of Skips volition and panic was boiling up inside of him. This couldn't be happening, it wasn't supposed to happen to boys and certainly not to superheroes. He had superhuman abilities and still he found himself manhandled by some standart school-bullies, he usually would've just webbed to the nearest wall.

 

With horror he now had to ascertain that Skip had begun to pull the cloth down his thighs and all of a sudden, his pride was pushed aside:“Please quit it, stop, stop please. I don't want to, no, no please.“ he was pleading.

 

Half way through he had lost his composure and now he was lying trembling under them and whimpered against the blood on his lips, but his laments were disregarded and soon his trousers dropped to the floor. Peter blinked desperate against the spinning ceiling, searching for an option to gain back his control over his body. The panic that was ignited in his chest was ugly and violent, racing inside him like a trapped animal, seemingly clawing it's way through his organs and shredding them on the way. He couldn't beathe, he couldn't move and he couldn't open his eyes because he feared if he did the shame would consume him at once. He was helplessly sprawled out on a stranger's bed – or Flash's bed?! –, while his clothes were being stripped away, along with his dignity and if he saw the look on the faces of the people surrounding him, how they would surely stare like they would try and consume him any moment, he was sure he would not be able to ever forget it.

 

Big, calloused hands wandered up his legs leaving goosebumps and sending him deeper into hysteria. Foreign fingers crept inch for inch up the legs of his boxers and Peter jolted unter the touch, before he began screaming, ripping the air from his burning lungs, even though he knew he was already suffocating.

 

Suddenly the fingers vanished from his thighs and gripped his jaw violently, to muffle his noises. His nostrils flared with the effort of pushing back air into his unwilling chest, that tightened impossibly, when he felt how next his pullover was dragged over his head and someone began fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, one hand still resting over his mouth. Cold sweat protruded in thick drops on his forehead and the vertigo got worse, as he was strained trying to to suck in oxygen through his nose, an unbearable heat was radiating from the hand which was now sliding over his exposed chest. Peter was disgusted by himself. To be touched like this, while only wearing his underwear anymore, without his consent, being stared at all the while, it was humiliating and disgusting. He felt like Skip would taint him, painting him red to mark him forever. It turned his stomach upside down, he had to get this all out, as fast as possible.

 

“Hold on for a second, he looks like he'll be sick. If he vomits, I'll never get it out of the carpet.“ Complained Flash and in a moment of clarity, Peter heaved against Skip's hand to emphasize his statement.

 

Skip immediately cringed away and Flash, as well as the boy to his feet, let go all of a sudden too, enabling Peter to right himself shakily, meanwhile Flash had left the room, Skip was now standing again, beside the bed and raked his finger impatiently through his hair, while Peter had bend over and was breathing heavily.

 

They weren't touching him anymore but that didn't mean this would be over. Peter knew. His thoughts were still muddled, but he knew. The claws were chasing, scratching, bruising, making him bleed and he didn't know what to do but to run, to make the most out of the space he had put between them. It was easier to imagine it this way, as something raw and wild, like a wolf, instead of putting them on equal ground and risking being at fault as well.

 

With imprecise fingers he was fishing discreetly for his trouser's pocket, hoping the others were distracted enough, not to pay much attention to him. He thought of the rustle of leaves, a soft growl far away, the puff of wind between the tree's branches. Careful with a shuddering breath his fingertips brushed the smooth surface of his phone.

 

“Nasty loser, could've at least tried to get your shit together.“ Skip insulted him and pulled at his hair, which made him flinch, his hands were paralysed in fear, balancing his mobile phone shakily between index- and middlefinger. A crack in the covert, the glint of claws, his muscles tense. He would bleed nevertheless.

 

“If Flash hadn't gotten him so sloshed, everything would've went smoothly. But he just had to go totally overboard with the lightweight. Fucking amateur.“ Countered the boy at the end of the bed and everyone joined in on the malicious laughter. Skip let go of his hair again and Peter dropped it back down, chin to his chest.

 

Jumping at the opportunity, Peter closed his hand securely around his phone. At that moment Flash came back into the room, carrying a plastic bucket, he pushed it into Peter's arms, who took it with his free hand and pressed the other against the bottom of the bucket, to try and hide the mobile phone, then he leaned forward and vomited with a shudder into the bucket.

 

While the others left the room, Flash stayed for a moment longer and opened the window, but before he left, he bowed down close to Peter's ear and whispered.

 

“Pull it together and get out of here, you'll have to manage on your own from here on now, so blame yourself if you don't make it.“

 

Peter didn't answer but just moaned dazed into the bucket, from which the smell of bile flowed, making his nausea even worse. He heard Flash sigh disappointed, then he left as well. Seizing the chance, Peter searched with blurry vision for Tony Stark's number on his phone display. He really didn't know who else he could've turned to, aunt May would've had a mental breakdown and he definitely didn't want the police to be involved, - _Nobody comes running for young boys who cry rape_ \- even if that probably would've been the more reasonable idea. While he waited for Tony to pick up, he threw up once again, then the tired voice of his mentor resonated through the earpiece. 

 

“Peter? Do you know how late it is?!“ He disapproved, but behind that Tony sounded more concerned than disgruntled. 

 

“Mr. Stark, pl-please help me,“ He stuttered inarticulate into the microphone, his brain still being sluggish and his tounge languid. 

 

“What happened?! Where are you?“ Tony now seemed to be wide awake and Peter could hear him rush through the corridors. Meanwhile he himself tried to hold up his phone as well as to climb back into his trousers swaying, nothing of which his disorientated body managed to do right. 

 

“I'm at... At Flash's, big house, I don't know, please just get here fast.“ He pleaded pitifully.

 

“Calm down kid, I just need the location, than I'll be there in no time, no worries.“ Even if Mr. Stark meant no harm, what he said didn't calm Peter down in the least, because _he_ knew about the severity of the situation. 

 

With a quivering voice he passed him the address, or at least the bit he could remember, generally speaking he wasn't sure how much of his prattling Mr. Stark could actually understand. His trousers only makeshift buttoned and his shirt still loosely hanging over his shoulders, Peter was now kneeling on the sill to the window, which Flash had opened only moments ago. The roof slope tilted dangerously from left to right and Peter wasn't sure if he could make it down there, without breaking every single bone in his body, but if he thought about it, it would still be better than staying in this hellhole of a room. 

 

“Peter? Peter! Can you hear me?“ Reached Tony's voice through the hammering pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

 

“Y-yes.“ He answered hesitating and swung his legs over the edge, one hand firmly at the window frame, he came standing on the rattling tiles, his legs wobbling.

 

“Flash's the kid from decathlon, am I right? Tell me what happened, okay?“ He talked to him soothingly, but his own fear was blanantly obvious. Just as Peter wanted to respond, the door got opened and he was pulled inside again, his phone fell somewhere on the carpet and Skip's hand once again made it's way back over his mouth. Next thing he knew, he was pushed face-first into the mattress, his voice smothered in the pillows and blankets. 

 

“No, no, no. Stop please!“ he sobbed, as Skip teared his shirt from his shoulders. 

 

After that was out of the way, he felt hot palms placed on his bare back, holding him down. Meanwhile Skip's hands crept to the waistband of his trousers and pulled at it. His face buried between the sheets, made breathing difficult and his raw panic didn't help either, causing him to thrash rampantly, while gasping for air. With a jolt his fight was interrupted, as his curls were grabbed again, forcing his head upwards and bending his spine uncomfortably. Another hit rained down on his face and Peter could taste the blood, streaming from his split lip. Dizzy and in pain his head was pushed down again causing the blood to seep into the grey sheets, which smelled like laundry detergent and bile. 

 

Peter layed dead still, eyes wide open but unseeing and brimming with tears, his breathing came at a erratic and panting rate. He was paralysed, he realized somewhere in the back of his mind, the bone deep fear had drowned him whole at once, while his body remained afloat, frozen in place. Skip's breathing on the other hand was cadenced and throaty, his tremulous and sweaty body layed itself slowly on his back and he could feel the outline of teeth on his shoulder. Peter wished he could just disappear, that his body wasn't a part of himself anymore and that he just had to slip it off, like a snake shed off old skin. This couldn't be happening, not to him, this body did not belong to him anymore, he needed a new skin, one that would be save, one that those hands could not crawl under.

 

Suddenly a loud bang caused everyone in the room to jolt violently. The door had been blown out of it's hinges and the singed wood smoldered in the doorway, through which now shone the warm light of the hallway, draping the cause of the noise in deep shadows that were only broken from the soft glow of blue light emanating from the glove, the man held into the room. Without the crushing weight on his back, Peter could sit upright again, moving robotically, while still grasping for his mind somewhere under the waves. Now he really did feel sick and that everyone abruptly startet screaming didn't help either. The next thing he was aware of, was Tony taking heavy steps towards him. Peter cowered before him, bracing himself for the inevitable scolding.

 

But the first thing Tony said was:“Are you okay? No wait, forget I asked that.“ His voice was thin and without the usual confidence he always presented so boldly. Instead of making another attempt at comforting Peter, Mr. Stark gathered Peter's shirt from the floor and helped him put it on, before wrapping his own jacket around the kid's shoulders. Peter's gaze sank to his legs, on which the khaki-coloured trousers had slipped over his knees. With limp fingers, he tugged his trousers sluggishly back into place and pushed the button uncoordinated through the hole.

 

“Hey buddy, let's get out of here, you're fine walking on your own?“ Purred Tony with a saccharine voice. Peter was still trembling, the nausea got worse with any second and his mentor's sweet-tempered face blurred right in front of his eyes. But instead of answering- or listening to his voice of reason, really- he pushed his palms against the mattress, pushing himself into a standing position while his legs were shaking undeneath him, he decidedly ignored the constant pain of his ankle and staggered a few steps towards the door, not exactly knowing where he intended to go, or why he was doing it in the first place, before the ground tilted itself into a slope with a dangerous angle and made Peter lose traction. Disoriented he was laying in Mr. Stark's arms, who cautiously helped him get up and kept his grip at Peter's shoulder. The silence was pressing on his eardrums, what had he done?

 

At last Peter found himself on the passenger seat of a car he didn't recognise, not knowing how he got there in the first place. His mind was sluggish and could only register what was happening with a delay. Slowly he realized where he actually was and pinpointed Tony to his left, who was steering the vehicle with a pale and concerned expression. Peter's chest clenched painfully at that sight, making him aware of how much of a burden he must be for Tony right now, all just because he was naive enough to trust Flash of all people. After everything he should've known better and now he had dragged Mr. Stark into it as well, even though everything he had had to do was to be just a little bit stronger, if he could've done that, he would've made it out all on his own. 

 

The details of the incident were getting more and more obscured, although Peter could still feel them touching him, Skip's big hands poising dangerously near at his private parts and the bitter-sweet taste of the punch, which was slowly mixing with his blood. Peter's stomach protested at that, cramping against whatever he had drunk and the lingering panic. Peter heaved and was bending forward while reaching for the bucket, that Flash had given him previously, only to feel the dashboard's expensive leather. When the realisation hit him that he was still sitting in one of Tony's sinfully expensive cars, he pressed his hand over his mouth and swallowed against the nausea.

 

“Stop that right now! Let it be and throw up if you have to.“ Tony warned him with an irritated tone and before Peter could do anything about it, he was hunching low between his legs and vomiting on the footmat. With a desperate gasp for air, the panic came rushing back full force, burning scorchingly hot in his chest. What had happened those last few hours was unfathomable for him, not to mention he let his role model see him like that and to top it all, he had the audacity to throw up all over his car. He couldn't help the shame to creep up on him at that thought. What must he think of him? He was a pathetic excuse for a hero, being so careless as to getting black out drunk, he wasn't even twenty one and Tony had expected so much of him, he was supposed to be better but how could he, if he had messed up this badly. He had probably deserved it anyway. He had been weak, how could he claim to deserve the suit like this? Tony should probably, would definitely, take it away again.

 

Peter felt himself beginning to sob, while slurring vaguely:“Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry Mr. Stark.“

 

“Shhh, Shhh, it's fine, calm down, there's nothing to be sorry for kiddo.“ Murmured Tony nervously, uncertain if Peter could even hear him. 

 

But in the meantime his initial crying, had evolved ito a full-blown panic-attack and the boy could barely get out anything between his hysteric sobbing and the breathless panting. Shaking his head frantically in disagreement. Bile trickled from his quivering lips once again and Tony's chest ached with compassion, he couldn't even be upset with Peter for getting drunk with the way he was trembling and apologizing. All he wanted right now was to soothe his terror. But in the end Tony found himself being unable to, seeing how Peter wasn't reacting to him talking and winced whenever Tony had tried to give him a reassuring pat. Meanwhile his stomach was twisting itself into knots, not being able to process how this kid, that had always been so tactile, now recoiled at any attempt to initiate physical contact. 

 

For Tony this whole situation was hitting too close to home, the memories of his condition after the New York battle were still fresh in his mind and he was trying to cope with his PTSD to this day. He was only a bit relieved when he drove into his garage. 

 

Peter felt like someone was trying to suffocate him, in his nostrils the smell of blood, vomit and detergent was burning and no matter how deeply he tried to breath in the oxygen never seemed to reach his body. The vertigo was getting worse again and his head lolled back and forth on his shoulders, while his thoughts took him elsewhere. His body was agonisingly numb and limb, he was now fairly certain he must have never left the bedroom, maybe Skip had just knocked him unconscious and he was waking up now. He wanted to get out of here, but couldn't really tell where _here_ was exactly, or _what_ had happened to him. His eyes were unfocused and everything he could hear was a muffled droning coming from nowhere in particular. He couldn't even be sure if Skip wasn't still manhandling him. The attempt at lifting his arms, turned out to be unsuccessful as well.

 

Tony pulled the unresponsive teenager out of the passenger seat, too distracted by the distressed bundle in his arms to think further about the vomit on his car's floor. Suit jacket wrapped tightly around him, he was still racked by uncontrollable shivers and took gasping breaths, while his eyes were wildly fluttering open and close. His body was heavily hanging from his grasp and Tony had now retreated into a silent panic, trying to figure out, how he could help Peter. He had already contacted Bruce in the car, before Peter had snapped out of his apathetic state, hopefully he was waiting for him in the med bay by now. Unsure of how much physical contact Peter could handle right now, Tony gently lifted him into his arms and carried him to the elevator. The elevator took them a few floors upwards and soon they were passing through the hallways on the way to the med bay until he spotted bruce hurrying in their direction. Peter was still weeping noisily in his arms, which had probably awoken everyone sleeping on this floor.

 

Bruce looked at him with wide eyes and asked:“What happened to him?“

 

Tony was struggling to find the right words, he himself couldn't even believe what he thought he had witnessed, before he just shook his head unable to explain just yet and proceeded to rush forward at Bruce's side. Tony placed Peter gingerly on one of the hospital beds, not caring to take his jacket from him just yet, whereon Bruce took action immediately, inspecting Peter's trembling form. 

 

“For how long has this been going on?“ Came his first question, while he peeled back Peter's eyelids and shone a penlight in them. 

 

From how far Tony could tell, Peter looked like he would pass out any second, his breath was laboured by now and his skin was pale and clammy with sweat, even though he was still wreaked with random shudders. 

 

“I-I don't know,“ Tony was short of tearing his hair out, while he tried to remember. 

 

“The panic attack started about ten minutes ago.“ At this Bruce eyed him, alarmed, but refrained from saying anything, he knew Tony must be familiar enough with the symptoms to know what he was talking about. The man himself on the other hand felt exposed at his own statement.

 

“Tony, you have to tell me what happened to him, he's obviously intoxicated and I'm not sure if this mess isn't a case for the police.“ Bruce got the backrest into an upright position to get Peter to sit, before holding up a bucket for him. Tony looked up at Bruce, distraught and placed a considerate hand on the small of Peter's back, while taking the bucket from Bruce. 

 

“I don't know either, I just know that he called me, not the police, maybe we should wait a while, before we accidentally make things worse.“ Tony was quarreling and didn't understand exactly what he had seen in this bedroom, or how to break this gently to anyone without violating Peter's privacy. 

 

“Tony, I'm not sure if could exactly make anything any worse at this point.“ Bruce responded sincerely. 

 

“Well we can't exactly put him through a rape kit either, can we?!“ Tony countered, rubbing a hand over his sunken face before taking a trembling breath. 

 

Bruce must've noticed this wasn't up for discussion until they'd know more and simply nodded, he wasn't really keen on performing a rape kit on a sixteen year old either. Then he proceeded to take some of Peter's blood for analysis, afterwards he inserted an IV with the words, Peter needed some fluids. In the meantime the panic attack had died down and now Peter's weak grasp clutched Tony's lower arm, while he was throwing up again.

 

It took Peter one and a half hours until he stopped heaving, the first half hour was spent divesting himself off all the food and alcohol he'd had consumed before the heaves only brought up bile and even later nothing at all, shooting painful spasms through Peter's abdomen that had him moaning and sobbing again. After the turmoil had subsided he fell back against the pillows, his face glistening with sweat and tears, crusted blood still sticking to where the wounds were slowly disolouring his skin, along with the vomit. Meanwhile Bruce had started the blood test to assess what Peter had taken exactly, because both of the men heavily doubted that he had managed to get this wasted on alcohol only, not with his metabolism at least. Tony lowered the backrest again but made no move to leave.

 

“If something else should happen, hit me up. And make sure he doesn't tear out the IV line.“ Instructed Bruce before heading to the hallway, on his way to go to bed again, well aware Tony wouldn't sleep for the time being and seeing no point in trying to force him to. Tony too, heavily doubted that he was able to sleep tonight and stayed at Peters bedside instead. Restless, he was moving again the next second, carefully pulling his jacket out behind Peter's sweaty back and hanging it over the chair's backrest, he emptied the plastic bucket, disinfected it and began to dab at the grime on Peter's face.

 

“Friday, scan Peter for injuries.“ He ordered his AI.

 

She informed him with her robotic voice:“Mr. Parker has a sprained right ankle, bleedings at his nose and lips, excoriations both on the knuckles of his left hand and on his lower back, as well as bruises on: his wrists, shoulders, back, thighs,“

 

“Yes! Got it, it's enough, Friday!“ interrupted Tony again, before the AI was able to complete her list. 

 

“If this is a comfort for you Sir, Mr. Parker will presumably not have permanent injuries and, considering his abilities, his injuries will heal in the course of the next few days.“

 

“Yes, thank's Friday.“ Muttered Tony, while rubbing his hands up and down his face. He stared anxiously down on the young hero's round face, who slept peacefully and exhausted in the feather-white sheets. He did not deserve this, but ultimately no one did, and the important question now was, how they should deal with it. 

 

Early in the morning Bruce came back, his face pulled into a stiff grimace, in an attempt not to show his displeasure with having to see Peter in such a state. 

 

“How's he holding up?“ He asked in a hushed voice, not sure if he shouldn't also be asking about Tony, who looked equally exhausted. 

 

“He's been sleeping for the whole time, thankfully.“ Tony answered, not moving his gaze from the Spiderling's sleeping form. 

 

Bruce tried to approach the next topic carefully, knowing how hard this was being on the man himself, who had been caring for Peter similiar to a son. But however Bruce tried to twist the words in his head, he didn't think he could ever make this any easier to talk about. 

 

“I've got the test results back, you know.“ He stated, making it sound innocent, while it was anything but.

 

Bruce waited patiently for a response, paying attention to how his friend's breaths deepend unconsciously, before he hesitantly reached for Peter's uninjured hand, stroking it lightly with his thumb. Tony braced himself with a last deep inhale and a soft sqeeze to his kid's hand before he mustered up the courage to take this kind of knowledge onto his shoulders.

 

He nodded before he spoke:“What did you find out?“

 

“Starting at the obvious, his BAC was at a 0.4, which isn't exactly an explanation. But the main drug in his system, I was able to localize, was some sort of benzodiazepine, to be exact alprazolam, which is the major agent in anxiety drugs, like Xanax, and with the dose he's had, I highly doubt he's taken it knowingly. So we have to assume his drink's been spiked, taking into consideration what you've been telling me that'd be the most likely scenario at least.“ Bruce ended, tense and breathless, he wished he could've brought better news but thinking about the alternatives he wasn't sure if there was even something like 'good news'.

 

Tony nodded again, rendered speechless. Speechless Tony was never a good sign. Well, rambling Tony, or joking Tony wasn't actually always a good sign either but speechless Tony was definitely a thousand times more alarming.

 

“I'm sorry Tony, believe me, this shouldn't ever be happening, to anyone. And as much as I understand you, you can't beat yourself up about it, not now, not when the kid is counting on you more an ever.“ Bruce tried to get through to him, shooting into the blue, hoping he could pull Tony out of his musings, before he would rile himself up too much. Usually this was Pepper's job.

 

“I know, I'm okay, I just need,“ He paused and Bruce noticed how he now had both his hands on Peter's arm, dazedly tracing the bruises there. “I guess I just need a good cup of coffee.“ Tony gave him a strained smile, that showed him a scary amount of vulnerability, which he hadn't seen in the man's eyes ever before.

 

Seeing his bewildered state, Tony quickly got up, brushing off dust that wasn't there and throwing him a challenging look.

 

“So you gonna show me where you hoard the good stuff in that little lab of your's, or do I have to reorganize your shelves all by myself again?“ Ignoring his short slip-up, Tony had regained his usual demeanour again, even if it was just for show, Bruce was even relieved to have him make the effort again.

 

“For the love of god, do _not_ touch my folders, you're gonna get your junk soon enough.“ He joked back, in the hopes to take his mind off things for just a while at least.

 


	2. -2-

When Peter came to himself again, he was plagued by an agonising migraine, which brought back the nausea. But as he was blinking against the white ceiling, he could at least ascertain that the dizziness had vanished, on the other hand, his ability to feel his body had recovered all the more, making him recognize the hot pounding, the swelling in his face and ankle generated. His muscles felt rigid and his joints hurt. Peter tried to sort out his memories but in doing so he just discovered fragments that, at first, didn't seem to fit together.

 

The first hours of the party were still clear and structured, he remembered the blood-red punch in the cup he had been holding, the image engraved itself incisively in his memory, marking the point at which everything must have started going down-hill.

After that it went dark, he could barely remember what the voices around him had been saying but he felt like prey in the predator's clutches. Next moment rough hands were laying themselves forcefully on his parky skin, he was being eaten alive like meat. Thereupon he could only tell that the smell of detergent and bile ran dry, to be substituted with the one of a new car, Tony's stern expression being the last thing he could completely grasp. Everything else consisted of sensations that made his stomach ache. Peter could sense how his feelings threatened to overwhelm him, so he forced himself to snap out of it, before he risked embarrasing himself.

 

He pushed himself into a sitting position, groaning at the movement and looked around, he found himself in the Avenger's tower. If he should be relieved, or if he should rather prepare himself for hell breaking loose, he couldn't tell. At least he was alone for now, which was a reassuring thought for a change. Like this, he could be sure that there wouldn't be any unwelcome hands on his body. Peter shook himself, trying to get rid of this train of thought. 

 

Peter held up a hand to shield his eyes, as he looked around the room. To his left was a window facade, through which the morning sun shone on the bright floorboards. At the opposing wall was a door, leading to an unknown room, while the big double door to his right, hid the hallway. Just now did he see the infusion line next to him, dripping an undistinguished fluid into the back of his hand, just as Peter was about to reach for the needle in a panic, Tony Stark strode through the double door, coffee-mug in hand and dark circles under his eyes that could bear testimony to a sleepless night. Peter abandoned the plaster in an instant and got back to reality.- Iron man was with him, he was safe.- 

 

Tony replaced his worried expression with his usual humorous facade within seconds, pretending to having forgotten why Peter was here in the first place. “Did our Sleeping Beauty finally wake up, as well?“ he said jokingly and Peter's pale face went bright red.

 

“No reason to feign false modesty,“ he continued, while placing his mug on the side table and lightly ruffling Peter's hair. “Are you thirsty?“ Peter nervously picked at the bruises on the back of his hand, but nodded nevertheless. At that Tony vanished into the room next door and came back with a glass of water. Peter clung to the cold glass in a miserable attempt to steady his hands. Mr. Stark pulled up a chair to his side and sipped at his coffee as soon as he had picked it up again, while doing so, he stared at Peter over the rim expectantly. The boy acknowledged the silent request by lifting the water to his lips and started to drink. At first he was sceptic, if drinking wouldn't eventually worsen his nausea, but as soon as he realised how dehydrated he actually was, all doubts had been forgotten. He carefully set down the empty glass next to him and stayed silent. The stifling atmosphere remained for quite some time, in which Tony indulged in his coffee. 

 

His nose still buried in the mug he murmured:“Do you maybe care to explain why I blew up a door yesterday?“ Tony had no clue how he should handle this conversation, so he deemed his usual strategy of escapism through inappropriate jokes to be the best available option.- He was hating himself only more like that.- Peter's big doe-eyes widened bewildered.- seems like this was a new information for the kid.- 

 

Peter buried his fingers between the blanket's folds and he wished he could disappear like that too. Embarrassed he ducked his head, while searching for words:“I'm sorry,“ he chuckled bitterly. 

 

“I _knew_ it was a dumb idea and then- I didn't know what they put in the punch and I thought- It was fine at the start, you know, I really thought they were just being nice, and-“ Peter felt himself beginning to ramble again, a flawed coping mechanism of his, to avoid facing consequences, he cringed at his inability to keep his composure. By now, Mr. Stark must think of him as totally unresponsible, like this he would definitely cut him off. 

 

“Hey, Peter! Peter, listen to me.“ Interrupted Tony, Peter bit his tounge but stayed in his position. 

 

“There's no reason to apologize, okay? If you're in trouble, no matter which kind, you can _always_ ask me for help, do you get that?“ Peter nodded rueful- he did not get that, at all-.

 

Tony sighed.- this was going worse than he had feared.- Still he left it at that for the moment and went on:“If that's the case, then I'm gonna go get Bruce, so he can fix you up for good, or you'll never get out of this dreadful room.“ Tony got up from the chair and patted Peter's shoulder hesitantly, the teenager broke his hunched position and gave Tony a cracked smile, the older one considered himself satisfied with that and left through the opposing door anew. 

 

Peter did not feel okay at all, he knew he should be talking about something, about the night before, but neither had Tony looked really eager to do so, nor could he muster the courage to piece together the fragments of his memory, while his throat constricted with shame at every word that passed his mind. Both of them would rather forget the incident altogether and even though Tony had said, it had been okay, maybe Peter should just spare him with his pubertal drama in the future. And what if he really _was_ at fault here and Tony knew? Ultimately he had been lucky, hadn't he? As far as he knew, nothing more had happened, than Skip's 'affectations', other people wouldn't have been privileged enough to get away this lightly, so why should he keep thinking about it, he had no real reason to worry his mentor any more. 

 

Shortly after Tony came back with Bruce in tow. Bruce peered out behind Tony with a pitying smile and Peter really did wish he could tell why. While Bruce was tampering with removing the IV, he casually asked:“How are you doing?“

 

“I'm just a bit tense and by now I'm pretty sure my head's trying to kill me.“ he ridiculed. He was strongly doubting he could take another concerned face. 

 

“If you say so, you really have been lucky. I think Tony here, can tell you way worse stuff.“ He derided. Peter looked up at Tony taken aback, while the man just grinned sheepishly, tiptoeing from one foot to another in a 'caught-red-handed' manner.

 

“Well, doesn't mean anyone should take me as a role model.“ he commented, while scratching the back of his head.

 

“Anyways, for now I can get you some ibuprofen.“ Continued Bruce and brought him two small white pills and a glass of water. Peter swallowed them obediently. Thereupon Bruce tended to his foot. 

 

“So, ready for take-off.“ Bruce gave the bandage some approving taps and took ahold of something beside him at the foot of the bed, revealing crutches that he handed to Peter. Peter swung his legs over the edge and slowly came to his feet.

 

“Can I have a shower with this?“ Was his first question, he was feeling himself getting more and more jittery by every second he had to remain in those clothes. He wanted to get rid of Skip's and Flash's – He wanted to get rid of feeling dirty.

 

Bruce threw Tony a short sharp look, but recovered his composure just as quick and gave the boy an answer:“yes, of course, you just need to keep the bandage from getting wet, I'm gonna wrap it up for you and then you can go.“

 

Peter was relieved, when Bruce had finished his construction of cling film and sticky tape around his foot and he could limp down the hallways with Tony at his side, heading to his quarters. 

 

“The other's had planned to order chinese, thought, maybe you wanna get something too.“ Threw Tony in. 

 

Peter felt his headache subside slowly, therefore rediscovered his hunger with it's disappearance:“yeah, sure.“

 

“Good. That's good. Then skedaddle, but be quick with your shower, or else Clint's gonna eat your portion too.“ winked Tony at him. 

 

Peter opened the door to his room, he wasn't actually living here but he kept some stuff here in case of emergencies, or when Tony worked with him on projects over the weekend. Peter stalked to the adjacent bathroom, in which he took off his clothing while his joins still ached. He forced himself to ignore the blue and purple fingerprints on his thighs. He gave them five hours tops anyway, until then everything would have faded away again.- he was fine-

 

The hot shower's water made his tense muscles loosen up, Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to internalize that he really was absolutely a-okay that there wasn't any reason to think about it anymore. Even if Tony had urged him to hurry, he was drawing it out, until he believed to having regained his composure. Cautiously he climbed out of the shower wrapping a towel around his hips and turned to the mirror, his eyes scanned the faucet, searching for his toothbrush but were torn between their actual goal and stealing glances at his reflection. The wet hazel-brown strands of his hair stuck to his forehead, meanwhile his face looked haggard. His lower lip was swollen and split. Added to that came the faint green tinge that was blossoming from his nose and mouth, he could vaguely remember how Skip had hit him there. As if he were under a spell, he was now fixated on the figure in front of him, around his wrists twined rings of blue, where Flash had grabbed him. On his shoulder abode an oval impression, which Peter could only identify as a bite mark, after he had turned around to get a better look at it. The terror that had gripped him to the marrow when Skip's hot breath had touched his skin, still sat heavily in the pit of his stomach. The fact that he now could see the bruises littering his back, didn't help either. He could scrub at himself as much as he wanted, it was obvious that he could never wash off what they had marked him with. 

 

He felt helpless and confused.- why hadn't he been able to prevent this?- He was Spiderman, he could lift several tons and climb on walls, but couldn't fend off some bullies?! Things like that weren't supposed to happen, to people like him. He should've been smarter like this, should've known not to trust Flash, but yet. Now he was staring into the face of someone he didn't recognize anymore, as if he had left his body in the darkened bedroom and it scared him shitless, to be trapped in something that didn't belong to him anymore, skin too tight and head filled with cotton. He couldn't look at himself, so he hid his face in his hands, while silent tears were streaming down his cheeks.- He's okay, he's okay, he's okay.- He repeated it over and over again, until he eventually could believe it. Fighting to just let it go and be over with it. He left the bathroom again, having forgotten why he had been there in the first place. He put on some fresh clothes, the old ones were stuffed carelessly into a backpack, leaning on his bedframe. Afterwards he made his way to the communal kitchen.

 

After half an hour poking around in his food, Peter found that his appetite had left him completely.

 

The first day at school following the incident was nerv-wreaking for Peter, he was paranoid and couldn't concentrade, while he was constantly on the look-out for Flash or one of the other guys, but soon he had to realize that noone of them were students at his school. Flash on the other hand avoided him as far as he could, no condescending comments, no acts of violence, not even a derogatory sneer was send his way. Even if Ned welcomed this behaviour at first, after several weeks of absolutely pacific behaviour, he grew sceptic and asked Peter, if he knew what this was about. Peter only shook his head and changed the topic. He would have laughed about the situation's irony, if it wouldn't choke him everytime he thought about it. 

 

His strategy to just ignore the whole ordeal, worked for nearly six months, until Peter jolted awake drenched in sweat and believed to have heard Skip's coarse voice. That was, to put it mildly, no good night for Peter Parker. After that his condition only got worse. He spend most of the day fraught and alert, until the point at which he couldn't focus on anything. Sometimes he caught himself at home, at his desk, in front of his homework, or at the dinner table, staring into empty space, unable to remember what he had done all the time. 

 

At the evening he was oftentimes so exhausted that he had no interest in doing anything else and the energy he _did_ have, he investet into his occupation as Spiderman. Trying to do anything was wearing him down, it took a great deal of effort to not loose concentration and get stuff right but being on patrol kinda came naturally to him, it was all instinct and action, it was a kind of danger he could grasp and fight, instead of the constant impending sense of doom, that lingered in the back of his head, when he had to be himself. 

 

All of this left practically no time for Ned and MJ, so that he mostly just saw them at school nowadays. But he couldn't bring himself to get involved in hanging out with them. It seemed to be a bad idea to expect them to endure his generally depressed spirit, let alone the unpredictable mood-swings, driving him crazy on particularly bad days. He wanted to get himself together, but everything around him seemed too loud, too dangerous, too overwhelming to face it day after day, while Flash was a constant memorial for what would happen if he'd let his guard down again. 

 

Not to mention that he already drew away from people that tried to push him to let his guard down. May had recognized that something was wrong, as soon as Peter had stepped through the flat's door with his foot in a bandage and hadn't let it go since. She hadn't exactly voiced it yet but Peter was certain that she knew and who she knew it from. Every day she found a new reason to ask him if he was okay. And it was wearing him down quickly, that she made him remember, while he was making such an effort to convince himself that he was okay. Eventually it had all escalated into an argument that left both sides at a loss, his aunt in hysterics at his door and Peter with a panic-attack behind it. 

 

This catastrophe had Peter led to believe that it would probably be in everyone's best interest if he cut off Tony as well, just for a while, just until the fuss had died down and he felt like he could handle his life again. With Mr. Stark it went more smoothly but to be fair, it had been easier for Peter to avoid him from the start, not to mention that the man was busy as hell. Him cutting off communication even got unnoticed for a few weeks, until his phone nearly blew up from the messages his mentor sent. Peter felt guilty at first but going through the contents of his messages reassured him in his decision, even Mr. Stark wouldn't leave the topic alone. To ignore his subsequent phone calls was, after that, even easier. he promised himself, he just had to figure this out on his own and then everything would go back to normal, he only needed time. 

 

His only opportunity to get away from all these issues, was going on patrol, the distraction was short-lived but at least it made him feel like he was in control over his life again, or leastwise over his body, because if he had to be Peter Parker, he was weak, a hare in a wolf pack, his world's ultimate had become something threatening. He wasn't anymore as safe as _he_ wanted to be but as safe as _other_ people allowed him to be. To be Spiderman was the best alternative to that, maybe people still wanted to hurt him but as Spiderman he had a _choice_ , he turned himself into a sheep in wolf's clothing and hoped noone would detect how vulnerable he actually was. 

 

The wind was howling against Peter's ears, while he swung aimlessly between New York's skyscrapers, his focus laying upon the civilians under him. They bustled around in flocks in the glow of the street lamps. By now it must be late at night, but Peter knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, hours before he had snarled at Ned, after he had held fast onto him to prevent Peter from vanishing wordlessly back to his home again, he knew Ned had meant no harm and that he was worried about him but Peter's composure had just given way, at the way to familiar touch, after he had been on edge all day long anyway. Peter didn't remember exactly how he had gotten home, only that in the next moment he had cowered on the bathroom tiles and was gasping for air, while his fingernails were chafing over his thighs. Since then he had been on patrol, maybe he should have apologized to Ned, but he had barely been able to convince aunt May that he was well, after she had called him five times, without him picking up. Therefore Peter found himself incapable to deal with anyone else. 

 

Further on Peter took his habitual tours, but except for a few small instances, nothing had caught his attention yet. Just as he was passing some night-clubs he startled violently, when he heard a bloodcurlding women's scream. Everyone else would have missed the sound, but his enhanced hearing had amplified it so inordinately that Peter could not ignore it, even if he had tried to. He changed his course in an instant and followed the sound's source in a backalley between two discos. As he peered over the edge of one of the buildings he could watch in shock how a man was forcing himself on a clearly drunk woman. In that moment his spider-senses were screaming deafeningly in alarm, urging him with all their might to escape as fast as possible. But he couldn't allow anyone to get hurt because of his inability to pull himself together. 

 

Therefore he jumped down to the two of them in the alley and hurled a net against the perpetrator before he could even recognize he was there. The man's hand sprung against the nearest dumpster and Peter dealed him a well-aimed blow, making im slump to the ground unconscious. Next he fixated him securely to the cointainer's metal, before he turned towards the woman, who had by now pulled her clothes into place again. Just now as he was standing still, did he realise that he was trembling all over. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the woman, who eyed him up and down, abashed. 

 

“Peter, do you maybe want to lend emotional support?“ Karen's voice pulled him out of his trance and he was set in motion as if on command. 

 

The young woman in front of him flinched back, unsettled at his sudden movement, which made him lift his hands in a calming manner, before he approached her:“It's okay, I don't want to hurt you. I- I can stay here, if you want me too.“

 

The stranger looked at him scrutinizingly, while she hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest. “Can I help you somehow? I could call the police, or escort you home?“ Suggested Peter, careful not to make matters worse.

 

Just now did she speak directly to him to let him know, she wanted him to call the police. Once that was done, they waited together for them to arrive, Peter still kept a respectable distance from her, at which she gave him a thankful smile. Meanwhile his stomach was doing somersaults and he wasn't sure how long the adrenaline could last to keep him from doubling over right then and there. 

 

“What- what are you gonna do now?“ Peter inquired, his voice trembled and broke in the middle of the sentence, he instantly regretted to have asked something so insensitive in the first place. But his counterpart just shrugged indecisively. 

 

“Life must go on somehow, if I want to, or not.“ Her gaze fell down onto her toecaps.

 

“Do you have anyone to talk to? Someone that could support you?“ He continued, everything he said could only be another sandtrap.

 

“I guess so.“ She murmured back. 

 

“You know, I just don't understand, why me?“ She looked up at him teary-eyed, she was upset and her face was painted with shame and incomprehension.

 

Peter shook his head resigned:“I think there's no exact reason why some things happen, even if it would be easier to have one. Still,“ He paused. “It's not your fault that there are bad people, doing bad things.“

 

“I just want to understand.“

 

“Me too.“ They were silent now, both understanding what the other wanted to say. 

 

When the police arrived, Peter gave the woman his cell phone number, just in case that there should be troubles at court, and said good-bye, before he vanished into the night between the rooftops. A few blocks away his knees gave way under the weight of his body and he had to tear off his mask in order not to throw up inside it. What had happened back then was in the forefront of his conscience again, the unbearable heat of sweat-slick skin, the soft jacket and calloused hands, bile, detergent and red punch, red like blood in his mouth, red like sirens, red like stop-signs, red like stop, like stop, like stop, stop, stop. Red like _Iron man._ The sudden realization knocked him off his feet: He needed help, now.

 

Determined he made his way to the Avenger's tower, meanwhile he let Karen call Mr. Stark, who needed some tries until he was awake and able to take the call. 

 

“Peter? Did something happen?“ He greeted sleepily.

 

“Yes, no, not directly. Can we just talk when I arrive, please?“ Peter tried to articulate, suddenly not so sure of himself anymore, questioning what he tried to get out of it anyway. 

 

“And you couldn't think of that _before_ three AM?“ Tony laughed into the reciever.

 

Peter bit his lip, but couldn't allow himself to miss this chance, because he wasn't sure if he could do this again. “yes, there's no help for it, please, I need you now.“

 

“Alright, it's okay. Should I come pick you up?“

 

“No thanks, I'll be there soon.“ Peter took a deep breath.

 

“Yeah, I see. Peter you shouldn't be roving around at this time, I thought we made that clear?“ Tony scolded him, but the last thing Peter cared about at the moment was his curfew. 

 

“It's important Mr. Stark.“ He tried to justify half-heartedly.

 

 

Peter sat stiffly in the communal living room, sunken into the cushions of an armchair, that was way to big for him. Opposite of him sat Tony Stark, wearing a tank top and a makeshift sweat-jacket, he looked like he had worked all day long and Peter felt selfish to put him through additional troubles, but there was no way to back off now. Both heroes vibrated with tension and said nothing, Tony filled with presentiments, he didn't feel able to face just yet and Peter, who was struggling for courage now that his mania had subsided. 

 

“Now put me out of my misery and spit it out already.“ Tony was the first to find his voice again. Maybe he tried push Peter to spill the beans, but his expression was begging to be spared the truth. 

 

“I'm not okay, Mr. Stark.“ He began, indecisive if he did, what he wanted to express, justice. 

 

Mr. Stark nodded understandingly:“That's okay.“

 

“I don't know what to do anymore. I thought I could just go on like nothing happened but suddenly everything got so heavy.“ He explained himself. Mr. Stark had to think he had totally lost it now, considering the crap he was spouting. 

 

“Peter, what happened?“

 

“You know what happened.“ He countered dryly.

 

“No, I know what _I_ saw, I know what Bruce found in your blood, but I do not know what _you_ went through.“ Tony's tone was dark and devoid of his usual non-chalance. It gave Peter the chills.

 

“I can't, you don't- you don't understand, if I hadn't been so careless, then-“

 

“It was not your fault, Peter. Don't even dare to think it was. Whatever you did, at no point did it give them the right to hurt you.“ Interrupted Tony. 

 

Peter swallowed heavily, before he could go on. Rationally he knew that Mr. Stark was right, he said it himself to this woman and at that moment it was obvious but the shame that chased him everywhere supressed every ounce of reason. 

 

“Then why does it feel like it is? I'm so sick of feeling like this, like I'm running in circles but I can't- there's just-“ His breath is hitching, while his thoughts are racing through his mind, making him stumble over his words and he feels so dumb sitting in his Spiderman suit in Iron Man's living room, digging his nails in his thighs again, while the shame is eating him up, starting at his vocal cords. 

 

“Easy Pete. You got this, just breathe.“ Peter did, deep and trembling, the heat of shame wasn't pressing so hard anymore. 

 

“You're doing great kid, amazing.“ Mr. Stark was talking to him like he was a child, but somehow he couldn't feel bad about it, he really did feel like he was still just a child, with this problem being so much bigger than he was and he felt himself crumbling. 

 

“God, what am I to do?!“ He spluttered “I don't know what to do anymore, I just want this to stop.“ somewhere in the back of his mind Peter could feel himself crying again, but when he had said that there was just one thing on his mind that was screaming at him deafeningly 

 

_'I don't know what I will do, when he can't help me'_

 

“Peter, you do know I'm not qualified to handle this, so-“ Tony had to break off as a plaintive sob cut through the thick air. Peter could feel himself falling, believing he was now truly, utterly alone, how was he meant to get through this, or was he supposed to just give up all along? He buried his hands in his hair, which stuck out wildly in every direction and weeped adrift, rocking himself slightly back and forth, because now he didn't even have the illusion of hope to cling to. 

 

Suddenly he was gently pulled out of his hunched over position as two hands grasped at his upper arms, the firm touch emphasizing Tony's intentions, until Peter looked up at his mentor, who was kneeling at eye level in front of the arm-chair, with a woeful expression.

 

“Kid, I would never force you to go through this alone and I promise you that I'll always be here, every step of the way. But people like May and me, we're just your support system, we love you and we support you but we can't fix those problems all on our own, as much as we would want to. That's what professionals are for. So all you have to tell me is that you're willing to try and we can get you all the help you need.“ He said determined. 

 

Peter nodded speechless and let himself be pulled into his mentor's embrace, while he cried softly, without really getting why. Maybe it was fear, or relieve, or hope, or everything combined. 

 

_ 'He's okay, he's okay, he's-' _

 

_ 'He will be okay, he will be okay, he will be okay.' _

 

**Author's Note:**

> 'Nobody comes running for young boys who cry rape.' is a quote from the slam poem "people you may know" by Kevin Kantor (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoyfunmYIpU), so if you are interested in a masterfully crafted and heart wrenching slam poem about the experience of sexual violence and recovery, definitely check this out.


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